l'enchanté

“Fair enough,” she muttered at their response. She doesn’t really know them, so she has no reason to not believe their word - why would they ask if they knew? She laughs at their mockery, slipping her hands into her pockets. “You and me both - clarity’s important, you know? I hate how they aren’t telling us anything, I hate how we have no way of knowing what’s going on. Like... are we in danger, or is this just some sort of... like, power assertion?” She isn’t sure if that’s the right phrase, so she elaborates - “I mean, is someone trying to prove to us that we aren’t the ones in charge here? I hate not... knowing.” And it’s not like she can do anything about it - what is she supposed to do with her magic? Block off the radio waves until they - whoever they are - have to actually talk to people? It’s not like her magic is even a quarter of the strength it’d need to be in order to manage that.

They were glad to hear silence - perfect, utter silence - but that only lasted a split second. Chewing at the inside of their cheek, Emile used the moment’s confusion to take her advice and shuffle the pitcher along the floor in order to tuck it behind a booth, near a server’s stand. He was clear on the other side of the room - it shouldn’t be easy to connect him with the water-dousing incident. “Hothead number one seems to think I’m a coward,” they commented in return, both hands still on their phone as an excuse. Emile didn’t need his hands to do that - or anything, really - but most people took what they saw at face value. Emile’s hands were full - it couldn’t have been them. “Would you agree with his assessment?” He joked, smiling over at her. “Do you want to maybe get out of here? Or should we stay and watch the wreckage?” They didn’t particularly want to get hit with a chair, despite the fact that all evidence pointed away from them.

"That’s a blessing and a curse,” Hari replied with a little smile. There were times that she wished nothing more than to be an only child, what with Hiyan’s attitude about magic, about finding them witches to bind themselves to, men in general. But there were other times that she knew that she couldn’t survive without him - she’d be dead by now without him, in fact, years ago, thanks to a hunter in a field. “What was it like, then, growing up? My brother was kind of my first friend - I can’t imagine growing up without someone like that.”

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Emile joked in response, a hint of a smile on their face. He was happy for the two of them, truly - it was proof that maybe, just maybe, things would work out for him in the end. They flushed slightly as Hal said that they’ve shown him that they can run the shop on their own; it’s flattering. It also meant more than he could express. He didn’t get the reference, making a mental note to himself to Google it later, but, whatever Audrey Two is, Emile assumed they won’t do it. They moved to help Hal clean things up, giving a little smile at his comment about his mother. It reminded them of their hometown, how shops and restaurants and the likes were passed down from generation to generation. L’dor v’dor - their father taught them the Hebrew phrase when they were a child. Things weren’t so different here than they were back home. “Well, thank you, Ms. Monroe, for trusting me with the shop, too,” he murmured to the air, giving Hal another small smile. “Means a lot. I won’t fuck it up.”

@emiledreyfus: the body of a what

Emile nodded at the name on the order, easy enough to remember. Taking off his coat, he moved to hang it up, smoothing their hands over their shirt afterwards and turning their body back to Hal to give him their full attention. Glancing over at the board for just a second, Emile nodded; of course Hal was that proactive before Emile even clocked in for the day. “We get it, we get it, you guys are cute,” they remarked playfully as Hal said he might go see Tai at the greenhouse. “It’s not Valentine’s Day yet, Mother’s Day is months from now, I think I’ll be able to handle this place for a few hours on my own.” They gave Hal a hint of a smile, before they paused, fiddling with the hem of their shirt for just a second. “Thank you, by the way,” he murmurs. “For trusting me with the shop. It... means more than I can express.”

The nod had him raising his eyebrows. “So- that’s-- that’s a yes? I mean, like I said, I totally won’t- I won’t be a bother, or anything. Just... just gonna... sit right there...” they pointed to the spot again, “and... be good.” They slipped their hands into their pockets, gingerly taking a step forward, then another, practically waiting for the guy to stop them with every step they took towards the aforementioned wall.

“Good, I’m glad,” they replied with a smile - Emile liked to think of themself as a good days advocate, but they also understand that not every day can be a good one. He’s just glad that Hal’s been having a good day this far. He looked over to the bouquet again, nodding. “Happy birthday to someone’s grandma, then. What’s the name on the order? I can get that out to them whenever they show up.” Really, Emile just wanted to be helpful in whatever way they could; they were happy to help, needed it as a distraction from everything else in their life.

They winced at the sight of the man going to grab one of the chairs, their hand curling around their own glass. No one can indict him for doing what he’s about to do if he has both of his hands full, right? Emile nodded in agreement at Avaley’s suggestion, taking the next second to look down while he sent the pitcher of water across the room, dumping it on both of the men. He glanced up from his phone as he drops the pitcher off to the side, once again doing their best to hide the fact that it was, in fact, them that just did that. “Did it work?” he muttered to her, looking back down at their phone. “And does anybody suspect me?”

"I’ve always had my work cut out for me with him. He’s older by two minutes, and makes sure I know it, and then I’m the one trying to play authority the rest of the time,” she admitted with a little sigh. “Key term trying. I love him - of course I do - but... brothers. You know how they are.” She didn't know if she actually knew how brothers are, but Hari figures they’re so well-documented in media that it’s an accurate statement to make no matter if someone has a brother or not. 

"No, like... I can’t come in and sit...? Or, like... no, like, I can’t tell people that I came in and sat?” They didn’t want to give up without even a hint of an argument in their favor - Emile has always been stubborn, perhaps too stubborn for their own good. “Like, I swear, I’ll sit down right there and play on my phone for the next hour, I won’t be any bother. Promise.” It was difficult to communicate with someone who seems to be holding a grudge against communicating with them in return, but Emile wasn’t ready to turn tail and head back to his apartment so soon after their first proposal. “I mean, like, it’s scary as shit in there, and I don’t want to fight with- with you, or... anything... so I’m probably not going to go very far anyways- just... right there, probably.” He pointed to a spot along the tunnel’s wall nearby, rocking on his heels. “I promise, I won’t... do anything too stupid.”

Emile blinks in surprise as the person seemingly attempts to leave the conversation with an incredibly open ending. Far too open. As if they don’t know that people would shed blood to protect their Maseratis. “Where are you going?” He asks, standing up to follow after them. Emile has never been a fan of open endings; they need conclusions, clear transfers from one thing to the next. “You said that like I don’t know - I know how rich people are, they aren’t afraid of anything quite as much as they’re afraid of being poor, or losing their symbols of wealth. Like, they’d break down crying if they had to set foot in a Walmart or whatever. I know that. They’re fucking ruthless. That’s why I don’t associate with any of them. Of course I remember that.”

They laughed with her, a smile remaining on their face. “You’re right - it is a tragedy... but it sounds about right that boring rich people somewhere decided that eating sweet things is so bad, you need to design a whole second food to eat instead of them.” Emile pushed a hand through his hair before rubbing at the back of their neck. “Me?” They repeated, raising their eyebrows, the smile never leaving their face. “I hope I have a bigger story coming - my life has been completely unremarkable up until this point.” Aside from the whole knife issue, but that isn’t a story Emile wanted to share with someone who was practically a stranger. “Besides, I think my ego could always be stroked a little more,” they reply with a grin, leaning against the counter after tucking their new book under their arm. “I won’t tell you fed it if you don’t tell.”

"The fact that you just used the word probably proves my point.” Hari’s face was straight as she looked him in the eye. While he didn’t seem to realize that worst-case scenarios were actually a possibility, she did. She understood the sanctity of a contract, and understood what getting yourself into a bad one meant. “Of course I sense the magic here -- that’s exactly what I’m saying. We are in danger, so you can’t just throw yourself into something that you think will guarantee safety. Not all witches are good people, Hiyan. I don’t know what I can say that’ll make that clear.”

This is perhaps one of the oddest conversations that Emile has had in a while. He assumes that this person - whoever they are - aren’t a fed, or somebody willing to turn him over to the feds for thoughts that were basically an expanded version of eat the rich. “I mean, if it’s arson, nobody gets hurt. And, yeah, I mean, why do people go to bonfires? The show, but also the warmth. It’s kind of fucked up to, like, want to roast marshmallows over a burning Maserati, but... there’s that. Symbols of wealth are, like... gaudy and ridiculous - no one actually needs them. It’s just society’s way of saying some people are better than other people because those better people have money. It’s dumb.” They shake their head, rubbing at the back of their neck. “Fuck society’s claims that some people are better than others solely because of what’s in their bank account.”